


xiv; Dirt and Heat (and you)

by Theo_Thaur



Series: 31 Days of TUA Whump [14]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Canon Related, Comfort, Gen, Hurt Klaus Hargreeves, Hurt/Comfort, Klaus Hargreeves Needs A Hug, M/M, One Shot, Veteran Klaus Hargreeves, Whump, Whumptober 2020, a Klave fic that isn't too sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:46:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27065860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theo_Thaur/pseuds/Theo_Thaur
Summary: Whumptober 2020 submission. No 14. "IS SOMETHING BURNING?": Heat Exhaustion, Fire-----Klaus isn't adapting well to the extreme heat of Vietnam, and Dave offers to help him through it.
Relationships: Klaus Hargreeves & David "Dave" Katz, Klaus Hargreeves/David "Dave" Katz
Series: 31 Days of TUA Whump [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1951234
Kudos: 18
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	xiv; Dirt and Heat (and you)

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGERS: mentioned drug use on the more explicit side, mentioned drug addiction, mild gore references/deaths, mild sexual reference, defeatist language/apathy, Klaus is indifferent to dying in this is what I mean, wartime setting.
> 
> Note: this is my first time writing for Dave so please be nice.

_xiv; Dirt and Heat (and you)_

They'd been breaking ground all day, because apparently they hadn't been close _enough_ to whatever it was they were chasing after. His arm was sore from gripping at a machete, there was no shortage of weapons or clothes considering it was a warzone. Klaus had been there for a week and already made a few friends in the battalion, although he didn't get the feeling they believed they were like him. The men he had smoked with were waiting to be rotated out and not too far from it; they were broken by the war and didn't find Klaus' jokes about the hardships appealing when they weren't high. They had families and girlfriends to live for, which was more than Klaus could say for himself. To be sure, he had a family out there, but they hadn't even been born yet and weren't much of a family either. Family, the families Klaus had heard stories about from the other GIs, sent letters and gifts. While it was impossible for any of the others to do that for him, when they'd lived in the same era Klaus hadn't been one to receive Christmas cards every year. Not that he'd particularly _deserved_ it or tried to water those crops himself, but it was true he didn't have anyone really looking out for him. For all Klaus knew, they could've just assumed he ran out after the shooting --if that was even how time was moving...

Tents were being set up, the usual jazz. Like every day before it, Klaus noted faintly that his olive drab fatigues had gone dark with sweat, practically black. The amusement of seeing the sweaty bodies of men had worn off very, very quickly. He threw his pack to the side, thankful for a chance at rest. The straps had been digging into his shoulders all day. He'd had to bury the briefcase in a quieter area of Saigon when it became evident that moving into the heat of conflict, a useless box would prove too much dead weight. He sort of hated that stupid thing anyways. Klaus slid down against a tree to rub at a knot on his calf, slumping over as if the weight of his M1 helmet was dragging him down. He imagined that briefcase buried under the dirt, it was probably much cooler than he was under the tree, and certainly much safer. Nothing short of a whine left his lips, Klaus held his head in his heads. There was some small amount of shade to be had under the tree in falling light, but it was still unsolvably humid. The heat only made the smell of death and grease cling further to the air. Klaus didn't care if a snake tried to bite him or a grenade rolled his way. He couldn't bring himself to care. He'd stopped caring when he realized that he didn't know how to get out with the briefcase, and when he realized his powers would do him no good. 

If he'd been Diego or Luther, maybe he would've fought better and got a promotion --or Ben as well, for that matter, although that would've been more complicated. Allison, and he could've talked his way into leaving. Five, he could've jumped anywhere but there.

But he was stuck with himself, in a trap suited to him like the glove, tight as the Vietnam air.

Sweat dripped down his face as he hunched over, he wiped it away only half the time. His eyeliner hadn't survived a day of heat. Klaus couldn't blame the possibly expired makeup. Fuck the cheap cosmetics, he felt like all of his _skin_ itself was melting off. Klaus was stuck firmly agnostic --the scorched earth, the rubble, and the noise of constant fire was all the hell he could take anyways. His brain felt like it had a pulse of its own. The crown of his head was being drilled into even past the helmet, no thanks to the mixture of heat, thirst, and loud sounds.

He heard the approaching crunch of footfalls, and, despite himself, looked up quickly. The boots were standard, all too familiar, and same olive drab pants. Klaus bothered no further, looking away. He was too tired to think. 

"You don't look so good," the man commented. Klaus tried to snort at that but he felt far too sticky, and when he managed it, it was as if the breath he exhaled stopped only a centimeter in front of him. The man knelt down in front of him, and only then did Klaus bother to properly look over. He studied the face --a little button nose, ears that stuck out, faint cleft, dirt on the cheeks. It was sort of recognizable, but not really. He was too tired, Klaus didn't care if it was some higher up or president Johnson himself. The man reached out a calloused, equally dirty hand, touching Klaus' forehead. Klaus couldn't see why, he was oiled up and not in the raunchy way, in the 'middle-aged man working at an auto shop' sort of way. And if he was willing to compare himself to a middle-aged man, it was _bad._ "You're all clammy," that was funny, he didn't feel cold at all. The man reached into his bag, pulling out a canteen and offering it. Klaus took it, his tongue felt like sandpaper. He'd drank all his water during the day. After so much walking, he couldn't be bothered to check if a nearby body of water had been checked by a medic, declared leech and bacteria free. Klaus wasn't even sure he could stand, or if trying would just cause him to fall to his knees, as if the dirt continually reached out for his body. He finished the canteen without remorse, though it had gone hot. The taste of the water only hit him afterwards, Klaus made a face and practically gagged. "Mekong's finest," the man said, sounding rather sorry, like he could help that the water tasted like shit. From what Klaus had seen, the Mekong was not at all known for being clean. "I promise I used a purification tab on that, don't worry." Klaus felt like he should've cared to be concerned about it before the man said anything, but he didn't. He limply handed the canteen back. The universe could throw whatever bullshit it wanted at him. "You're a northerner, huh? I can tell because you're not looking so hot. Well, er, you know what I mean." The man took out another canteen, wetting a towel with the water. He brushed aside the tangled curls stuck to Klaus' forehead, before pressing the towel there against his skin. Klaus found himself relaxing into it slightly. The man's arm held just fine.

"...Yeah, guess you could say that," he answered finally.

"Oh, good. Yeah? I was starting to think you'd fainted on me there. You're gonna get eaten up by mosquitoes if you're not careful, sitting out like this." As nice as it was that some stranger was playing nurse, he was too tired for it.

"Guess you'll have to swat them off my body," Klaus replied. "You can hit as hard as you want," he added, trying to formulate a suggestive look with his eyebrows covered by a washcloth. He settled on winking because that was the least amount of effort, but he wasn't even certain that had been noticed. Making that kind of joke around some southern military guy in the nineteen-sixties wasn't a bright choice, yeah, but it was what it was. The man just looked taken back, his hold against the towel weakening slightly, causing Klaus to lean forward as the man had kind of been propping him up. However, the GI gathered himself, supporting Klaus once again. He looked bashful, Klaus didn't know if it was an embarrassment at having his masculinity questioned, or if Klaus just looked adorable inches from what at least felt like death. 

"Gee, I-I don't know much about that… but you should use your repellent," he suggested. At not being slapped across the face, Klaus decided he didn't mind the man staying to help him.

"It washes off as soon as we cross a river. I heard the VC can smell it off us," Klaus answered. The man looked a little like he was fighting with something.

"Well, okay, but I've seen enough guys getting sick with malaria. Fucked if we do, fucked if we don't I guess," for a soldier, the man was sort of sheepish, even when swearing.

"I'd rather go down in a bang anyways. Suits my flamboyant nature," Klaus said, knowing he was pushing it. The man didn't say anything and he wondered curiously if his help was going to get up and leave him, but the man wrestled through his bag, taking out a small medication jar. 

"You must be very sick, I don't know anyone that goes around talking like that," he chuckled awkwardly, handing over a pill. Klaus looked it over, frowning when he realized it was just a salt tablet. He took it anyways, and was handed off the rest of a canteen. 

"How many of these do you have?" Klaus asked, lifting the canteen to his lips. 

"Nine, and don't swing it this time. Drink slowly," he answered, though he seemed busy thinking about other things. Klaus went along with it although he didn't particularly want to, taking a slow sip. Same gross taste, but at least it seemed to be helping. "Is it true you're from the north? I heard a couple of the guys talking and I thought you'd be from San Francisco or something," he chuckled nervously. Klaus couldn't see why it mattered, he kind of liked being a bit mysterious but the guy was acting really genuine.

"No, not San Francisco. Why'd you think that?" He asked, before rewarding his answer with more water. The man seemed particularly self-conscious at that, toying with the hem of his also sweat-soaked, olive drab shirt. The GI sat down finally, rather than just crouching down. 

"I guess, I heard this stuff --you talked about a festival at Woodstock?" Oh, right, that. He'd been high at the time and making hippie references that he'd thought would land, culturally. Turned out he was a bit early. Probably wasn't too important that he'd ranted about Woodstock in nineteen sixty-eight. "And you said you weren't supposed to be here?" Klaus' grip tightened around the canteen. Was he going to have to explain his way out of being a time-traveller? Did it even matter? Or, more accurately, did he really even care? He hadn't ended up fighting in the Vietnam conflict by choice, he didn't have to _choose_ to uphold the timeline. "I thought I was here for a reason, at first, but… it hasn't been easy as I'd expected. I guess maybe I feel like I wasn't supposed to be here either," he said, as quietly as one could with the battalion working, with the firing of artillery in the distance. The conversation had taken a funnily conspiratorial tone. "Is that selfish of me?"

Klaus shrugged. "I don't think it's selfish to be the kind of person you want to be. You don't owe the government your life." 

"But I feel like I _do_ ," the soldier answered.

"Okay, then you do," Klaus replied. He seemed unsatisfied by that answer. 

"...I never thought I'd meet someone part of the 'New Left' here of all places, actually fighting," the GI finally said, seeming neither awestruck nor upset. "I heard all of you were having kids or becoming student deterrents." Klaus didn't have anything to say to that, just sipping his water. Drinking it slowly gave him more time to acknowledge it tasted horrible. "You know, you're not even wearing your flak vest," he noted suddenly, voice seeming to fall a little. Klaus didn't know what he was talking about, although he had dropped off some heavy chest thing on the second day. 

"Guess it forgot to pack it last night," Klaus joked weakly. 

"No, no this is serious," the man's face scrunched up.

"Is it?" Klaus asked. The man sighed.

"It is if you want to live," he answered. Klaus threw his hands up, narrowly avoiding sloshing from the canteen. 

"Oh no, not that! Ooh spooky," Klaus responded flippantly.

"Klaus. Please." Klaus' abrasive look softened immediately. How did the GI know his name? He'd never been properly fitted for tags at any point, that was sort of a 'before you go to war' kind of thing, and he wasn't really sure if it could be fixed.

"You know me?" Klaus asked.

"We met on the bus into the valley," he answered. With a renewed sense of direction, he studied the GI in front of him.

"Dave?" He asked. The man smiled, nodding. 

"But hey, listen, we're gonna find you a vest okay? I'm sure your family out there'd be mad if they knew you didn't even have a shirt to shield your heart." Klaus groaned.

"That's a lot of extra weight I don't think I'm ready for. Your blood's not on my hands though," he answered. Poor choice of wording. Klaus kept himself as intentionally numb as possible, he hadn't let himself feel much of anything in the past week. Dave on the hand, seemed caught off guard, going to another place, before shaking his head slightly and seeming to come back. "I don't have any family waiting for me," Klaus said, using a bit more tact than usual to change the subject, which Dave seemed thankful for.

"...Not even a girl at home?" Dave asked. Klaus shook his head. That answer settled for a moment in the air. "Then you have me," he answered, which seemed perfectly normal an answer until Dave's face creased up. "I mean, not in _that_ way, I just figured you should have somebody. The guys that have nobody, they crack under the pressure, they can hurt others and sometimes themselves, and Klaus I'd hate to see that…" he cut himself off, to which Klaus gave a lopsided smile.

"Alright. You'll be my girl, then," he answered boldly.

Dave chuckled awkwardly, "the New Left sure is somethin', huh?" He paused, removing the washcloth from Klaus' forehead to douse it with more water. "...What I mean to say is, we can help each other? I don't see too many men getting heat exhaustion out here, I'm not an expert but I can help on the simple things. I've seen you try and hold your M-16 and… it's not too groovy." He'd half-assed it like he was half-assing everything else. Klaus hadn't received basic training, he just tried to do what everyone else was doing, even if it meant getting nearly blown up many times and yelled at many _more_ times. But maybe, if he could live long enough for rotation, to get back to Saigon, maybe there was a way out that didn't involve him trying to desert in the forest of an unfamiliar place.

"I got taught to smoke weed through the shotgun chamber of my gun. That's good enough."

Dave frowned. "You oughta be more careful with talking about that. I know that stuff grows wild around here, but it's technically not allowed."

"It improves my _focus_ ," for a nice guy, he had a _little_ bit of a stick up his ass. Or maybe Klaus was just used to ridiculing and pushing away anyone that didn't want to enable him. "Plus, some of the higher-ups support it. How many times have you seen me fighting with my fellow Americans? None."

"Just… try for me? It's a slippery slope. In some units, more men overdose then they die in combat. I've known some of those guys." Poor Dave. Klaus knew that he'd gone down that slippery slope a looong time ago. No sense trying to change it when it was pretty much his go-to. Klaus was still looking forward to finding those elusive shrooms he'd heard talked about, although even a cigarette wouldn't go to waste. "Trust me, the basic training we got, you don't need it. What they were trying to show us was stuff our fathers used in World War Two, this is different, it's guerilla warfare. You have a blank slate here, and if you're willing to, you _can_ fight." When Klaus didn't say anything right away, Dave continued to press the rag to his forehead with one hand, but put his other hand on Klaus' shoulder. "Everyone here is important, because we all depend on each other." As if made too vulnerable by a mere shoulder touch, Dave withdrew. Klaus felt stronger, less dizzy and his head didn't hurt, but he was still a sweaty mess. 

"Will you ladies get over here?!" A voice yelled in their direction, from the camp. Klaus handed back the half-empty canteen, and Dave took the rag away, only to position it on the back of Klaus' neck, draping it across his shoulders. Dave stood. 

"Just think about it, okay? You can adapt if you let yourself, we all can. There's no AC, and people on the rear have it better, but… this is how it's going." Klaus wished he knew what to say. It did all sound a lot like shit they tried to tell him at rehab, but Dave wasn't breathing down his neck in that way. He didn't really know why Dave cared so much, but for some reason he didn't think this was about having more American hands fighting. Maybe Dave was just a good guy. A good person, imagine that! Klaus hadn't seen too many of them on streets, in his time. Good people seemed like the kind that were usually much more broken down by the war… it didn't all fit. "I'll try and find you a lukewarm beer. Don't hope for anything stronger. If we're lucky we might be able to share a fan with someone, and maybe you could tell me about the north." Dave turned away. 

"Uh, quick q," Klaus cut in, holding a hand up in a 'stop' gesture. Dave turned around. "Why do you care?"

He smiled warmly, but again, a bit sheepishly. "I helped you in the tents because you seemed lost --and because it was an order. Then you were nice to me in the bus. I guess when I saw you struggling on your own over here, I felt like you were worth chasing after." Dave paused, more quietly saying, as if unsure of it himself, "I figured if I'd been in your shoes, you'd chase after me too... Or I hope so." He left it at that, scrambling off to help. Klaus stood up, still a little dizzy and needing to lean against the tree. Slinging it over his shoulder, the pack he carried felt just a little lighter. What a weird GI.


End file.
